Those of you who've been following my Twitter and/or Facebook know Morgan James and I have been writing a romance about hockey players. Apparently I care about hockey now. It's a whole thing.
Anyway, the book's done,
and sadly so is the season, and now there's just the NHL awards (I'm
absolutely pulling for the hat trick) and the draft and then nothing
until October. Unless you're a Blackhawks fan, I guess; you guys get the
Long story short, I said something silly to Morgan and Trish about how we could title the story Lord Stanley's Lovers and everyone would be really confused when it wasn't a regency menage, and somehow that led to Shakespeare (I know, wrong era).
Uhm, so here is what happened after that.
Goalie-o, Goalie-o, wherefore art thou Goalie-o?
Deny thy blocker and refuse thy cage.
'Tis but thy cage that is my enemy.
Thou art thyself, though not a goaltender.
[Aside] Shall I read more, or shall I tweet at this?
What's a goaltender? It is nor puck nor stick,
Nor glove nor skate, nor any other part
belonging to a player. Play some other role.
What's in a position? A right winger
In any other slot could score as much
(Unless his name is Patrick Kane, I guess).
So Goalie-o would, were he not Goalie-o called,
Admit that heavy puck which I one-time
Into the net. Goalie-o, doff thy cage
And for thy cage, which is no part of thee,
Let me score!
don't know, guys, it's late and I miss hockey. For those of you not in
the know, Goalie-o tweets because all the best goalies have Twitter.